be the stench from those grotesque cigars Mario was so damned proud of. No decent Spaniard would strut around with such a thing in his mouth. At least not the Spanish men she'd grown up around. The Torres family didn't associate with ladrones.
"Keep your legs straight. I want a really good ass shot," he grumbled, rubbing her ass, which still stung from being slapped.
Look at him. She managed her simple command, turned her head, and stared into his black eyes. Mario would have been an incredibly good-looking man if he weren't so evil. It consumed him, stealing any glow from his eyes and leaving them flat, opaque, with hard lines on either side of his mouth, probably from scowling so much.
Mario wasn't fazed by her turning and staring at him without him instructing her to do so. More than likely he didn't think anything of the act, other than that she was paying attention. It was such a major accomplishment for her, yet the asshole couldn't care less about her movements. He was wound so tight, almost ready to spring with anticipation over putting whatever insane plan he'd conjured into effect, he merely glanced at her before returning his attention to the car.
"You're going to give the men an order, puttana, " he instructed. "Tell them to drive the car down the road and into the side of the building at the end of the street."
Mario pointed with his hand and Marianna shifted her attention, focusing on the large brick building, lit up with its flashing lights, and the continual thumping of disco music. There were people in the parking lot. Others were entering and leaving the place. It was a very busy nightclub.
"Do you understand, slut?" he demanded, tightening his grip on her arm.
"Yes."
"Are you my good little slut?"
"Yes." The answers slipped out of her mouth without giving them any thought. She continued staring at the building.
"Do it." He again slapped her ass, then backed up until he stood behind her.
Marianna placed her hand on the hood of the car, then bent over, keeping her legs straight, and rested her arm on the open window.
This is wrong, Marianna thought. Her mind rejected her instructions to keep her mouth shut, to not say anything.
"Drive down the street," she said, staring at the side of the man's head.
"Okay," he said, reaching for the gearshift.
"Drive into the building at the end of the street."
"Okay."
Marianna took a step back, straightening when the car pulled away from the curb. She couldn't take her words back. She couldn't make herself yell at them, order them to stop, do anything to prevent the inevitable. The tightening in her gut increased, growing worse, until she had an overwhelming urge to put her hand over her tummy, bend over, and puke. Maybe if she vomited long enough it would cleanse her body of the poison controlling her. Not only could she not successfully put her hand on her tummy and bend over at the same time, but her gaze was stuck on the annoying nightclub and its blaring lights also.
I'm a goddamned zombie! She hated herself, hated this drug, hated Mario with every thread of her existence.
"You're such an incredibly good puttana ." Mario draped his arm lazily over her shoulder. "Shall we? You deserve to see the fruits of your labor."
He began strolling down the sidewalk. She moved alongside him, once again zoning out on the building ahead of them as her mind contentedly went blank.
"Watch the car," Mario instructed.
They're going to get hurt, Marianna thought. She couldn't take her eyes off the rear end of the car. It ran the stop sign. Two cars coming from either side screeched to a stop, causing pedestrians to jump out of the way and start yelling.
She and Mario were almost to the end of the block. The car continued driving straight into the parking lot, not once swerving or slowing for any other vehicle. The driver of a fancy sports car slammed on its brakes to avoid a collision and another car rear-ended it. People were suddenly hurrying to the parking lot as
"Keep your legs straight. I want a really good ass shot," he grumbled, rubbing her ass, which still stung from being slapped.
Look at him. She managed her simple command, turned her head, and stared into his black eyes. Mario would have been an incredibly good-looking man if he weren't so evil. It consumed him, stealing any glow from his eyes and leaving them flat, opaque, with hard lines on either side of his mouth, probably from scowling so much.
Mario wasn't fazed by her turning and staring at him without him instructing her to do so. More than likely he didn't think anything of the act, other than that she was paying attention. It was such a major accomplishment for her, yet the asshole couldn't care less about her movements. He was wound so tight, almost ready to spring with anticipation over putting whatever insane plan he'd conjured into effect, he merely glanced at her before returning his attention to the car.
"You're going to give the men an order, puttana, " he instructed. "Tell them to drive the car down the road and into the side of the building at the end of the street."
Mario pointed with his hand and Marianna shifted her attention, focusing on the large brick building, lit up with its flashing lights, and the continual thumping of disco music. There were people in the parking lot. Others were entering and leaving the place. It was a very busy nightclub.
"Do you understand, slut?" he demanded, tightening his grip on her arm.
"Yes."
"Are you my good little slut?"
"Yes." The answers slipped out of her mouth without giving them any thought. She continued staring at the building.
"Do it." He again slapped her ass, then backed up until he stood behind her.
Marianna placed her hand on the hood of the car, then bent over, keeping her legs straight, and rested her arm on the open window.
This is wrong, Marianna thought. Her mind rejected her instructions to keep her mouth shut, to not say anything.
"Drive down the street," she said, staring at the side of the man's head.
"Okay," he said, reaching for the gearshift.
"Drive into the building at the end of the street."
"Okay."
Marianna took a step back, straightening when the car pulled away from the curb. She couldn't take her words back. She couldn't make herself yell at them, order them to stop, do anything to prevent the inevitable. The tightening in her gut increased, growing worse, until she had an overwhelming urge to put her hand over her tummy, bend over, and puke. Maybe if she vomited long enough it would cleanse her body of the poison controlling her. Not only could she not successfully put her hand on her tummy and bend over at the same time, but her gaze was stuck on the annoying nightclub and its blaring lights also.
I'm a goddamned zombie! She hated herself, hated this drug, hated Mario with every thread of her existence.
"You're such an incredibly good puttana ." Mario draped his arm lazily over her shoulder. "Shall we? You deserve to see the fruits of your labor."
He began strolling down the sidewalk. She moved alongside him, once again zoning out on the building ahead of them as her mind contentedly went blank.
"Watch the car," Mario instructed.
They're going to get hurt, Marianna thought. She couldn't take her eyes off the rear end of the car. It ran the stop sign. Two cars coming from either side screeched to a stop, causing pedestrians to jump out of the way and start yelling.
She and Mario were almost to the end of the block. The car continued driving straight into the parking lot, not once swerving or slowing for any other vehicle. The driver of a fancy sports car slammed on its brakes to avoid a collision and another car rear-ended it. People were suddenly hurrying to the parking lot as
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